


Episode 44: The Wars Around Us

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [44]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Clans, Mandalorian Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21685639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "Talk, lava!" ~DendonaCara's plan, an urgent message, and the casualties of adulthood.
Series: Clan Meso'a [44]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1261364
Kudos: 1





	Episode 44: The Wars Around Us

“Be Haria Enad!” Ba’atuk shouted, raising the initiate’s arm up and pumping the sky with her fist.   
The young woman, helmet on, waved and jumped with excitement but calmed herself when Ba’atuk turned to address her.   
“Ke’brali, ratiin,” she said, leaning forward and giving her helmet a headbutt. (Prevail always.)   
Choruses of “Oya!” and “Be Haria Enad!” shook the stadium from end to end. Even Cara was jumping and hugging her neighbors, the feeling was electric!   
“That was amazing!” she cried, hugging Jecho.   
The Chagrian laughed hard enough he rocked his chair backwards into the couple behind him.   
“Nuk’yun’chan?” (Good first festival?)  
“Yes!” Cara nodded enthusiastically, not aware that her Jiiya-jaw had come loose.   
Down in the arena, the initiate had been hoisted up to the other side by her family who’d run around the arena to the opposite side. Ba’atuk was giving orders to a pair of Twi’lek who then ignited flare sticks to catch the Jiiya’s attention. It huffed and trotted after them through the powered off shield and into the West tunnel. Once its tail disappeared and the booming of its paws trailed off, the blast doors slammed shut.   
“Fifteen minute break,” sighed Jecho, stretching, “What’s say we get some more snacks?”  
Cara nodded and grabbed her basket.   
“Do you want anything?” she asked the Chagrian and his mate.   
Both shook their heads, “But can you run this cloth under some water?” asked the human, handing her a slightly damp towel, “It’s a little too hot for him.”   
The Chagrian reached out and felt the infant’s forehead before nodding in agreement.   
“Of course!” she said, taking it and putting it in her bag, “We’ll be right b-”  
“One moment, kex’ika,” said a voice below her.   
Koucitesh and her husband were standing with their backs to the arena. Both were looking up at her, one smiling and the other looking her up and down.   
“I’ll take it,” whispered Jecho, taking the basket and cloth from Cara.   
“Ah..okay, yes-I mean-le, Alor!” Cara fumbled with her Jiiya-jaw and re-tied it. She scooted past Dendona-sans the twins who’d raced after Jecho-and descended the last six stairs to the Alor’s row. Meiri stepped aside into the isle to let her pass; Cara hazarded a glance up at her, but it was hard to tell what face the Trandoshan was making.   
“Cara,” smiled Koucitesh, putting an arm on her shoulder and bringing her forward, “This is my husband, Taerh’a.”   
Taerh’a Haria’n Meso’a, the Alor’s husband, was a tall, broad shouldered Togruta with large montril and headtails, pale orange skin, and white markings cutting stripes across the majority of his body. His eyes were steel grey and his face was webbed with old cuts and bruises. There was a slight lean to his gait, as if his spine was slightly crooked, and he was clearly favoring his left leg. Like his wife, the top half of his face was painted black but he wore a different kind of headdress than most Meso’a. Togruta, Cara observed, didn’t have a helmet like other members of the Clan. Instead, they wore a cross between a kind of headband that hooked under their chins and between their montril that all connected to a three-way buckle behind their heads. It featured the upper portion of the roaring Jiiya Cara had grown accustomed to seeing on the standard helmet. Instead of ear spools, Togruta wore teal bands on their lekku at or close to their jawline much like the Twi’lek wear when not helmeted. As far as she could tell, given how much taller he was that she, he didn’t have a plume. She’d have to ask Jecho about that later. As she studied him, something about his face seemed familiar.   
“Hello,” he said in a thickly accented Basic, “I am Taerh’a, son of Chaweiyn and Naracho. You are Aviila’s charge? I hope she’s not filling your head with stories.” His voice was deep and rolled like the low humming of a speeder.   
“Not really no,” she said truthfully though feeling herself falter slightly under his stern gaze, “She has taught me some cooking!”   
“She was never a good cook,” chuckled Koucitesh, trying to break the tension, “But I think it will suffice.”   
“It was at least palatable,” said Taerh’a, crossing his arms, “But what about Haria’n Jecho. Has she had you take the vows?”  
Cara frowned slightly. She quite enjoyed Aviila’s cooking. That’s how she met Tavut after all and he...wasn’t so bad. She shook her head before her mind wandered.   
“The vows...for the Chibala?” she clarified.   
He nodded. Cara shook her head, “She said she wants me to take them when I’m ready.”   
“That sounds reasonable,” said Koucitesh before he could reply, his expression a mixture of concern and suspicion.   
“You would tell us if she wasn’t diligent with her teachings, correct?” he asked, leaning forward slightly so he towered over her. She took a step back, bumping into Meiri who snorted in annoyance but said nothing.   
“Riduur,” Koucitesh chidded, putting a hand on his breastplate and pushing him back, “Forgive him, Cara, he sometimes forgets who’s Alor.”   
Cara looked from one to the other and felt a wave of awkwardness spread across her arms as a shiver.  
“I um..I’m going to find Jecho now,” Cara said hastily, gathering her skirt and dashing back up the stairs.   
Her heart pounded in her ears as she took two steps at a time past a now-standing Dendona. She watched Cara pass then looked back down at Koucitesh and her husband. The Togruta was rigid with his arms crossed and his face turned away from his wife now berating him through clenched teeth. Dendona couldn’t hear them, but she’d grown accustomed to reading body language. She never took up mando’a, not like some of her other children had, but she knew a spousal spat when she saw one.   
“You spend far too much time with Palouta,” Koucitesh hissed.   
“I spend no more time than you,” he retorted, “But we all have concerns, cyare. An Ordo’ad on Meso’kaan. It’s unheard of! What would our ancestors think?”  
“They’d be proud of us as you should!” she jabbed his chest with a finger, “Progress is progress especially if we treat other mando’ad with respect.”   
“But she’s not mando’ad, Tesh, she deserted them.”  
“She had her reasons, I’m sure.”   
“There is never a good reason.”  
“From what I learned, she wasn’t one to begin with. No shame in realizing our way is not for her. She took no oaths.”  
“That she told us about,” he gestured broadly, “Who among us knows for sure why she came here? It could have been a set up.”   
“By whom?”  
“You know exactly whom I’m thinking about.”   
She sighed and put her hands on her hips, “You can’t be serious. You said-”  
“I know what I’ve said but who’s to say-” he trailed off and glanced around in case his voice had carried. For the most part, speaking Basic kept most conversations private, at the moment, with so many people from across Meso’kaan in attendance, he wasn’t entirely sure. “We’ll speak on this later,” he shrugged, turning to sit back down, “And I’ll..apologize to Cara. I didn’t mean to scare her.”   
Koucitesh nodded, then rubbed the exposed part of his forearm.   
“These are trying times,” she sighed, leaning forward and kissing his cheek.   
“Indeed.” 

Jecho, Av’hok, and Hoori moved from stall to stall picking out various snacks for their baskets. Hoori was particularly excited about a small tub of ice cream with candied nuts and ka’hast beans sprinkled on top. While Jecho had a vendor run the small towel under their faucet, she noticed a very flushed Cara exiting the stadium. She waved the teen over and handed her the towel.   
“Take this back quickly,” she instructed, “the little one was almost as flushed as you are.”  
“Har har,” Cara panted, accepting the dripping towel, “I just… those were a lot of stairs,” she said instead of what she was thinking.   
Jecho patted her arm, “You’ll get used to them. Now hurry.” She gave Cara a shove then trotted over to stop the twins from overloading their ice cream tubs. 

“Ah thank you!” said the Chagrian, taking the cloth from her.   
Cara nodded and rocked on her feet, watching Koucitesh and her husband out of the corner of her eye. They were both engaged with Ba’atuk; she let out a sigh and relaxed her shoulders slightly. Glancing around, she noticed Dendona’s seat was vacant.   
“Did you see where Dendona went?” Cara asked, pointing back to where the older woman had been a few minutes prior.   
Both men looked at each other. “The Maak’ux?” asked the human, gently laying the baby down on his lap, “I hadn’t noticed she’d left.”  
The baby didn’t appear to be a newborn, although Cara had very little experience with babies. His eyes were open and he had more hair than Cara figured most sentients were born with, but he had a slight blue-ish patch around his left eye.  
“Did something happen?” she asked, leaning in closer.   
The human flushed, “No. He just takes after his father a little.”   
The Chagrian chucked, “More like his father than his father.”   
“You’re both his fathers right?”  
“Yes, kex’ika,” chuckled the Chagrian, “But you never know quite how they’ll turn out.”   
“My sister was the surrogate,” explained the human, “So in a way he’s a bit of her too.”   
“Well, he’s real cute either way,” she offered, reaching down and caressing his pudgy little cheek. He made a little “huff” and tried to grab her finger, but missed and grabbed a corner of the towel. Something about the soft, wet texture displeased him so he let go and balled up his little fists.   
“Thank you!” the human smiled warmly, dabbing the baby’s forehead gently with the damp cloth and tapping his fists playfully until he uncurled them, “I can’t imagine our lives without him.”   
“And you?” asked the Chagrian, “Do you look like your mother or your father?”   
Whatever smile Cara had vanished.   
“I..,” she said, trying to find her voice though feeling as if it was being sucked back down her throat, “my parents are dead. Killed by the Black Sun.”   
Both men looked up at her, properly.   
“How long ago?” asked the human, concern knitted his eyebrows together.   
Cara didn’t have to do the mental math, but the monotony of counting kept the tears back.   
“Six months. That’s why I’m here,” she added with a forced smile before either of them could comment, “I was saved by...by a raider. She looks after me now.”   
I was saved by Fent and Beon, she thought.   
The Chagrian made to take her hand but she pulled it away.   
“Speaking of her, I was supposed to meet her during the break. She’s at the drink pavillion I think,” she said quickly, hurrying away towards the stairs.   
The pair watched her disappear between the throngs of people returning to their seats then looked at one another.   
“Sol’ad?” said the Chagrian. (Orphan?)  
The human shook his head sadly, “Na’puk al’soah.” (Her heart is heavy.)

Jecho and the twins returned to their seats only a few moments after Cara disappeared.   
“Have you seen the young Chibala I was with? And the Maak’ux?” she asked the Chagrian before she sat down.   
He thought for a moment and exchanged a few words with his husband before he responded.   
“Na’puk al’soah, Chibala. We worry for her,” he said after a moment.   
Jecho set down her basket, “What happened?”  
“It’s not-”  
“Versh’vet, ner’vod, what happened? Where is she?”   
He pointed to the stairs, “She told us about her parents and then she said she had to meet with a raider. The raider who saved her.”   
“The raider who saved her,” Jecho repeated to herself, “No she doesn’t, she’s gathering supplies. Cara doesn’t…” she stopped, something settling into the pit of her stomach.   
“Ptal’ta!” she ordered the twins digging into their ice cream. (Stay put!).   
“Ba’ten?” Av’hok shouted after her. (why?)  
“Ptal’ta!” Jecho called back, pushing through the crowd and out into the main thoroughfare to the arena.   
Both twins looked at each other then at the couple. The Chagrian patted the seat next to him.   
“Ptal, kex’ike,” he said.   
Hesitantly, the twins squeezed into the seat and slowly munched on their treats, taking turns looking back up the stairs for either their mother, Jecho, or Ka’ra. 

Left. Left. Stop!   
Cara paused at the edge of an alleyway and hid behind a stack of crates as large group of children and Chochoma raced by. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand shook her shoulders, steeling herself for her mission. Once the children were further down the road, she pulled out her holomap. The blue hologram projection of a circular map bloomed in her palm, illuminating her face and the white smudges streaking her cheeks. Beyond this line of stalls and shops was the Toch’akjah and possibly a room with long-range comms. How she’d convince the guards to let her in was another thing, but if she could get close… Her hand closed around the small device tucked down at the bottom of her purse. The transmitter, the one her parents set up as a way to communicate without the Black Sun knowing, was still in her possession. Beon had given it back to her the day they rescued her. She’d forgotten it was still with her until she almost put it in the wash with her coveralls. Aviila’s back was turned when she fished it out of the laundry and stowed it under the clean jumpsuits she’d pulled down from the line. She tried not to think about the last time she used it, the last time she saw her father alive. He didn’t deserve that, she thought bitterly, no one deserved that. Before his severed head could come to mind, she stowed the map and balled her fists.   
“You can do this,” she told herself, “You can do this. You just have to-”   
“Have you seen her?” someone shouted from the opposite end of the alleyway.   
Cara pushed herself up against the wall and peered between a gap in the crates beside her. Jecho and Aviila were standing there, the latter with a crate of something in her arms.   
“Terran said she was looking for you,” Jecho continued frantically, “But I know that’s not true so I left the twins with him and-”  
“When was this?” Aviila asked, shifting the crate so it sat on her hip, “When did you see her last?”  
“At the ten minute mark of the break. She was taking a damp cloth to them. Aviila I’m so sorry!”   
The older Twi’lek shook her head, “It’s fine. She’s in no danger here, I just don’t want her wandering around without one of us.”   
“I’ll find her, Aviila, I promise,” said Jecho before collecting her skirt and dashing up the street.   
Guilt bubbled up in Cara’s throat as Aviila glanced down the alley and scanned the various groupings of crates and netting. Not seeing Cara, she sighed and hoisted the crate back into her arms.   
“Niri,” she yelled to the Zabrak who was out of sight down where Jecho had appeared from, “Cara wandered off. Keep an eye out, will you?”   
“Sure thing.” Niri called back through what sounded like a mouthful of bread.   
Aviila walked forward and disappeared out of sight. Cara slid down to the ground and held her head in her hands. Was it really worth it?   
“I just want them to know I’m ok,” she whispered to herself, “That’s all.”   
“Bat?” (What?)   
Cara jumped, the holomap tumbled out of her bag and rolled out onto the road. It collided with a pair of clawed shoes with leather wrapped ankles. The wearer stooped down and picked up the device, looked it over, then walked it back to Cara.   
“Baten hel?” (Why are [you] here?)   
Cara didn’t look up.   
“Kex’ika, baten hel?” they repeated sternly.   
“Ta,” Cara began feebly, her eyes welling up with tears, “Ta… sad. I’m sad.”   
Dendona grunted, grabbed Cara by the arm, and hoisted her onto her feet.   
“Baten hel?” she demanded again.   
“Ta tu’yk!” Cara shouted. (I’m upset!)   
“Baten tu’yk? Tu’yk bat?” (Why [are you] upset? Upset [about] what?)   
Cara gestured broadly, “Tak toch, ta’toch!” (I want home, my home)   
“Ra tak’tock?” Dendona repeated, “Mak’baten ra’tu’yuk?” (You want home? That’s why you’re upset?)   
“Le, Dendona,” Cara cut the air with her hand, “Le! Ta..,” but she faltered, her anger bubbling down into a whimper, “Le. Tak’toch.”   
If she expected a hug or any display of affection really, she didn’t know Dendona. She wasn’t Aviila and she certainly wasn’t Jecho. Instead, Dendona grunted and shoved the holomap back into Cara’s purse so forcefully she nearly tipped the teen over.   
“Kex’ika,” she demanded, grabbing Cara’s hand, “Ra’ta.” (Talk to me.)   
“Tir,” Cara sobbed, pressing her free palm against her face and rubbing the face paint out of her eyes, “Just let me go.”   
Dendona grunted again, dug into the pouch on her side, and pressed a large, circular object with a flat bottom into Cara’s hand.   
“Ra’ta,” she said again, pointing to the object. She let go of Cara’s hand and reached for one of the crates stacked beside them. She laid one in front of Cara, one in front of that one, and another that she then sat down on. She pointed from the device to the central crate.   
“Ra’ta.”   
“Dendona-”  
“Ra’ta!”   
Cara winced. Dendona’s voice was harsh, harsher than even Ba’atuk’s and Cara was half convinced the Choxultz’alor could spit hot venom. She set the device down as she was told and cleared the paint from her eyes. Dendona was staring up at her expectantly, a deep frown on her face.   
“Fine,” sighed Cara, rubbing her nose and collecting her skirt. She slid onto the crate, adjusting it beneath her so she sat on the flat top and not the slightly raised sides.   
“Ra’ta,” Dendona repeated, tapping the dome of the device. It turned white and glowed. Dendona leaned forward and spoke.   
“[It’s a translator],” read the projection from the device.   
Cara blinked then looked up at Dendona. The older woman was sitting back with her arms crossed. She nodded at it.   
“[Talk, little warrior].”   
Cara read the line, then glanced back over her shoulder.   
“I can speak Basic?” she said tentatively.   
The device thought for a moment, then a line of white text appeared before them. Dendona read it.   
“[Yes, now speak, lava.]”   
Cara giggled despite herself. Lava. Well, it wasn’t perfect, but in her own way, Dendona was trying.   
“Dendona,” she began, rubbing her eyes again, “I’m sorry for shouting-”  
“[TALK LAVA!]” 

Ba’atuk hopped up on the wall, eyeing the female Jiiya suspiciously. Too young, why are they always too young, she lamented internally. The Togruta boy with the sprained ankle was at the ready, his shield raised and his club on his back. He looked up to Ba’atuk and nodded that he was ready. Ba’atuk nodded back.   
“Jiiya!” she pointed her spear down at the initiate.   
Behind her, racing down the aisle, a Rhodian warrior pushed passed the guards and stopped before Meiri.   
“Bat-” Koucitesh began.   
“War, Alor!” he shouted, panting, “War has broken out!”   
“What?!” Ba’atuk spun around, “War? Where?”  
Both Koucitesh and Taerh’a were on their feet.   
“When did you-”   
Someone screamed. The Jiiya had lept forward and charged the initiate. Ba’atuk hastily jumped into the arena after it, shouting to the guards to open fire. Warriors on both sides laid into the Jiiya, doing what they could to stun the animal, but it was already on top of the Togruta. Koucitesh leapt over the wall as well and made for the boy, but Taerh’a grabbed the Rhodian by his breastplate.   
“Where is the war?” he demanded.   
“Geonosis,” he sputtered, “The Republic’s army, it’s bigger than we thought.”   
“Baar’ur!” shouted Koucitesh, dragging the limp body of the initiate towards Barsurl and Meiri. (Medic!)   
Ba’atuk threw her weight into a headbutt, her forehead colliding with the nose of the Jiiya. It reared back and stomped, hissing and spitting at her despite its limbs wobbling beneath it. She staggered backwards, her vision spinning, but she launched herself at it again, this time grabbing it by the tusks and forcing its head down onto the ground. When she did, the firing stopped and the guards looked from one another with confusion. The Jiiya shook and thrashed, swinging Ba’atuk back and forth like a ragdoll.   
“Tra’cyar mav!” she shouted. (Fire at will!)   
The warriors hesitated.   
“Tra’cyar mav!” she demanded through the sand being kicked up around her.   
The Jiiya thrashed again, this time slamming its head into the wall and knocking Ba’atuk loose..   
Dendona ignored the throngs of people running down to the arena, but any time Cara took her eyes off the device, Dendona hissed “Talk, lava!” until she focussed.   
“But-”  
“[You will find out later. Now, talk!]”


End file.
